


Hibiscus Syriacus

by Siren_Of_Old



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dear christ, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, I'm so so sorry that I forgot that tag, M/M, You might cry, i cried but i'm a weenie, idk - Freeform, not your average happy ending, poor Phichit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siren_Of_Old/pseuds/Siren_Of_Old
Summary: In Phichit Chulanont’s life, he’s only encountered Hanahaki disease twice.





	Hibiscus Syriacus

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOT I HAVE WIFI HAVE ALL MY FINISHED WORKS

In Phichit Chulanont’s life, he’s only encountered Hanahaki disease twice.

Once was when he was on a subway in Detroit. He’d sat next to a lovely young woman with long blond hair and a nice smile. They’d talked amicably throughout their ride together until she choked on her words, coughing up a small daisy petal. He’d gaped as she fumbled to bring a handkerchief up to her mouth, assuring him that she wasn’t contagious, that she was completely fine; she was actually on her way now to get the surgery.

The second time, it was his best friend, the year he placed sixth in front of the entire world.

He’d come home to their Detroit apartment, groceries weighing his arms down as he kicked the unlocked door open with his knee.

“Yuuri~!” He laughed, setting the bags down on the living room floor. Straightening up, he stretched backwards until he felt his spine pop in several different places. “I got the things to make Katsudon!”

The only reply to his announcement was the squeaking of his hamsters’ wheel in their cage. He felt his brow furrow as he crept nearer to Yuuri’s room. “Yuuri, are you home?”

Pushing the door open quietly, he peered in to find his best friend sitting cross-legged on his bed, his hands cupped in his lap as he stared down. Concern flooded Phichit as he flew to Yuuri’s side. His hand immediately went for the Japanese man’s forehead, pressing to find any change in his normal body temperature. Finding nothing wrong there, Phichit searched his friends’ face desperately.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

“Did you know that camomile is the flower of Russia?” Yuuri asked in a near silent voice. Phichit’s breath caught in his throat as he finally looked down to see what his friend’s hands cupped.

A perfectly formed, lovingly blossomed camomile flower.

“Oh, Yuuri, _no_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Now it was his third encounter with Hanahaki…

Only this time, _he_ was the one cupping flower petals in his hands as his chest seized tightly to let him cough raggedly.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Hibiscus Syriacus_.

That’s what type of flower they were. He’d Googled it on the floor of his hotel room, hands shaking as he stared at the paled pink and red petals littering the floor around him. They were native to most of Asia, but what stood out to him the most was what nation claimed them as their national flower.

Choking on another cough, he exited his browser and typed Yuuri’s number into his phone. He picked up on the third ring.

“Kon’nichiwa, Phichit!” Yuuri said cheerfully, his smile bleeding into his tone. Phichit clapped a hand over his mouth to stop another cough. “Did you get settled into your room?”

“Yuuri,” Phichit whispered, his voice hoarse from coughing so hard. “I need you to come here, as soon as you can please.”

Immediately, Phichit could hear his friend shuffling around on the other end of the line, probably slipping his shoes onto his feet. “What’s wrong?”

Tears welled unbidden in Phichit’s eyes at the concern in Yuuri’s voice and he shook his head forcefully to steady himself. “Please just hurry.”

“I’m on my way right now. What room are you staying in?”

“Room 210.”

“Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

Phichit murmured his dissent and they hung up, the air tense around himself. He curled into himself, drawing his knees up to his chest. He stared down at the pinkened petals, watching them until his vision blurred and they seemed almost like paint smears on the dark carpet of the hotel room. He shuddered as his chest tightened again, ready to cough.

A sharp rap on the door signaled that Yuuri had arrived, and he slowly stood to open the door. His limbs felt heavy, like he wasn’t in his body anymore. He gripped the cold metal handle of his door as he swung it open, coming face to face with the pale, worried face of his best friend in the entire world. He smiled weakly.

“Did you know that Hibiscus Syriacus is the national flower of South Korea?”

Brown eyes darted to the floor behind him, tears springing to life in them. Those same eyes came back to his, the tears brimming over as his friend stood there, staring at him.

“Oh, Phichit, _no_.”

 

* * *

 

 

When people meet Phichit for the first time, they’re usually a little overwhelmed by how excitable and nice he can be. His bright demeanor and giant smile sometimes made even the most cheerful of people a little speechless.

He can only imagine what had been going through Seung-gil’s head when they first met.

He’d been so excited to meet other skaters at the arena, his eyes bright with every selfie that he took. He acted no different when he’d approached Seung-gil, who’d been seated on a bench.

“Hi!” He’d chirped, holding his phone up a bit in lieu of a wave. “I’m Phichit Chulanont! Can we take a picture together?”

The Korean man had stared blankly at him for a moment before slowly nodding his head. With a cheerful laugh, Phichit had quickly settled himself beside Seung-gil, opening his camera app. He’d positioned the phone in front of them, his front camera reflecting his large smile and Seung-gil’s near flat expression.

“Smile, please!” Phichit had grinned, throwing up a peace sign for the camera. He’d snapped it without hesitation and floated away with a quick, “Thanks!” to find Yuuri.

That picture was his phone’s home screen, had been since he’d realized his feelings for the stoic man, locked away behind his password.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m not going to get the surgery,” Phichit told Yuuri that night as they sat, huddled together on Phichit’s bed. Yuuri had cleaned up the flower petals on the floor, but Phichit kept coughing a few up every half hour or so. Yuuri’s eyes glistened in the light of the television, turned on for background noise as the two sat together.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asked, his voice raspy as tears came to his eyes again. “Phichit, this could kill you.”

“I can’t just do that, Yuuri.” Phichit murmured, his hand loose around his mouth. He coughed a bit, tasting the petals in the back of his throat before he kept talking. “Just like you couldn’t get rid of Victor.”

There was silence as the Japanese man stared, the tears spilling over once more as Phichit hacked into his hands, cupping the petals that fell in his palms. He leaned forward, pressing his shoulder into Phichit’s shoulder and the Thai man could feel his own tears coming.

“I’ll be here with you till the end,” Yuuri murmured, taking one of Phichit’s hands in his own. “You won’t be alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Skating with flowers in your lungs was as hard as it sounded.

Phichit was breathless by the end of his free skate, his arms extended to the heavens, as if searching for an answer to some needed question. Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt his throat and chest constrict with the need to cough. He swallowed harshly, clearing his throat as he bowed to the audience, listening to their cheering and clapping ringing in his ears.

He smiled weakly at Celestino as he skated out of the rink, accepting his skate guards from his waiting hands. “Thank you, Ciao Ciao.”

The long-haired man nodded, his face solemn as Phichit choked on his next breath. He pushed a handkerchief into Phichit’s hands, rubbing the Thai’s back softly. “You made me proud, Phichit.”

The tears fell then, and Phichit had to turn his body away from the crowd to hide. He crumpled the handkerchief in his hand, crushing the half-formed flower within. Wrapping his arm around Phichit’s shoulders, Celestino lead him out of the rink, into the deserted hallway to sit upon a bench.

“It’s been five months, Phichit,” Celestino murmured as he stood in front of the Thai man. “When are you going to get the surgery?”

Phichit shook his head slowly, clearing his throat to try and rid himself of the taste of leftover flower pollen and the metallic taste of blood. “I’m not doing it, Celestino.”

His coach glared, his brow furrowing before he saw the expression that came to Phichit’s face. Stooping down into a squat, he wiped the Thai’s tears away with his thumbs. Phichit laughed waterly, his hands coming up to knock into Celestino’s.

“I’m sorry,” Phichit told him in a strangled voice. He rubbed at his cheek with his palm. “I know you must be disappointed in me.”

“Not disappointed,” Celestino said, his hand gentle in Phichit’s mussed, sweaty hair. “I just don’t want to think about losing you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit Chulanont realized that he was in love with Lee Seung-gil after Seung-gil failed to place for the finals.

Phichit had come to cheer on Yuuri as he skated, and wound up lingering within the ice arena after the medals, watching as everyone filed out of their seats in the stands and the paparazzi followed his fellow skaters outside. He’d wanted one picture of the empty arena; the ice cut and abused from their skates, the emptiness almost forlorn, but not quite.

He’d seen Seung-gil enter on the other side of the rink, his head turning to make sure none of the audience was still around, before he opened the door to the rink and skated back out in his athletic gear. Phichit dove around the corner, peeking out from his hiding spot to watch as Seung-gil slid to a stop in the center of the rink, pulling out a pair of earbuds. Fitting them into his ears, he pocketed his phone and stood in complete silence.

Phichit watched in awe as Seung-gil began to spin, a tight twirl that led into a long dash, his arms spread wide with his head tilted back. He skated with all of his heart, baring it to the seemingly empty arena. Phichit could swear that he saw tears dripping down the man’s face when he skated to a sudden stop in the middle of the rink, his chest heaving.

Eyes met his and he nearly squeaked, dashing out of view and down the long hallway.

That night, he coughed up his first petals and called Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

 

Even now, even with the flowers taking over his life, forcing him into a hospital bed until his end came. Even now, he loved Seung-gil.

He loved how hardened he seemed, but how soft he was with his husky on Instagram. He loved how he skated with all of his passion, all of his strength.

Most of all, he loved that the man was sitting beside him in the hospital room, his eyes clouded with tears as he stared at the oxygen mask pressed over Phichit’s ever-smiling mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Seung-gil muttered, clenching his hand around Phichit’s. He leaned down until his forehead hit the bed, his voice muffled by the bedspread and Phichit’s skin. “Katsuki told me what’s been going on. I’m so sorry.”

Phichit stared at him for a second, before he tapped on Seung-gil’s chin, tipping his face up towards his. The Korean man watched as Phichit typed a question into his phone, presenting it to him with a quirked brow.

 _What do you have to be sorry about,_ it read, and Seung-gil’s breathe choked him as he tried not to cry. _I’m the one who fell in love with you._

“I-” Seung-gil handed Phichit his phone back, brushing their fingertips together. Phichit felt his chest seize a little and he coughed weakly. Seung-gil’s eyes filled with tears that spilled over as he looked at the other man. “Phichit, I fell in love with you so long ago. Probably right after we first met.”

Phichit stared in horror as the Korean man bent forward to press his face into Phichit’s shoulder. “I developed Hanahaki and tried to find the courage to tell you, but I couldn’t.”

Seung-gil let out a wracking sob against the Thai man’s neck. “I got the surgery. I- I left my love for you, and now you’re stuck like this, because I can’t- I can’t love you back, Phichit.”

If you walked past room 783 that day, you’d hear nothing but poorly hidden gasps and sobs.

 

* * *

 

 

The day that Phichit died was a cheery day, the sun beating down on the world, even as his friends mourned the loss of his soul from the earth. Even as his heart monitor droned on endlessly as Yuuri and Seung-gil stared in horror, their tears running swiftly down their cheeks. Even as the doctors rushed them out of his room, trying to resuscitate him and failing; the flowers roots choking the life out of him.

The same went for his funeral. The sun was bright, and the sky was so blue it barely held a cloud in it. So many of their skating acquaintances attended, crying over the death of such a beautiful soul.

Seung-gil stood at the casket after the services ended, on his knees in the grass before the shiny black of it, his forehead pressed against it. Yuuri watched from a distance, wrapped up in Viktor’s arms. He watched as Seung-gil gently knocked his forehead against the casket, muttering something before pulling back to scream at the shiny black.

“ _Why wasn’t it me_?!”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and Kudos as you like!


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